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Show 66 "It starts right here," I explained. "On the ice of Lake Bennett. In the snring. We just sail a boat from one lake to another and down one or two little rivers, and soon it turns into a wide river. Then it's called the mighty Yukon." I could hardly believe it myself. No more hiking. No more packing. Just sailing a boat to Dawson City, getting out, picking up the gold, "I don't see any boats, either," Tip said. She looked straight at me with her big green eyes, "They are still growing," I said, nodding toward the forest, "And we had better hang our tent from a couple, fast, before they are chopped down." We soon learned why we had found such a good camp spot. Shortly before we arrived, two stampeders, turned realtors, had roped off the lakeshore cove and were charging two dollars a tent site. But at Lake Bennett, as on the Summit, the North West Mounted Police were in control. And since all handguns had been confiscated at the Summit, they seldom had argument. "This is called good business on the other side of the mountain," the two stampeders had complained. "And you have thirty minutes to return there alive," a Mountie had said, drawing his gun. Tip and I took their tent site, free of charge. |
